Clove's Story
by ClovelyClato
Summary: Basically Clove's story,brief life in District 2, and the 74th Hunger Games. With a bit of Clato!


Clove's Story

Chapter 1

I wake up, put on my clothes, and drift through the haze that is my so called life. The same routine every day, wake up, put on the ugly gym training clothes, and run out of our sensible house. Never mind, it's actually not sensible at all. It's huge. A mansion of sorts. My father is an important District 2 official that is constantly on business trips to the Capitol. As I walk down the well paved streets at the crack of dawn, I try to imagine my life if I had lived in another district. My thoughts are interrupted when I reach the intersection and meet up with my childhood friend; Cato There has never been a time when we have not been friends. Our families are in the same revered social group of our district. "Hey, someone looks clovely today," Cato says trying to make light of our beyond boring situation. "Bug off Cato," I say brushing of his compliment. Cato can be so weird sometimes. Over the years, I have no idea what kind of a relationship we have. One minute, we're wrestling as if he's my brother, then he'll compliment me and I feel really awkward. On our walk to the training center, we don't make an attempt at conversation because today's reaping today. There are things better left unsaid. Like what would happen if we chosen or weren't for all that matters, because now that Cato's eighteen, he's going to volunteer, it's his last chance. Besides, he's the strongest and most skilled of all the boys. If he doesn't, the district will basically disown him. As for me, I'm seventeen, and I know I'm ready. The training center headmaster obviously doesn't think so because he chose another girl to volunteer. But if I'm reaped, I won't allow any volunteers. I am the best knife thrower in the entire district, and the headmaster can just go die in a hole for all I care. Upon reaching the training center building, "Clove," Cato says, "You don't have to be like that, and this is probably the last time we'll get to talk alone, say something." Just as I'm about to open my mouth, the worst possible thing happens. Maia. The undeniably beautiful, bubbly, annoying-as-heck chosen volunteer this year saunters up to us. She's constantly targeting Cato, the most popular guy in the district, to put up on her wall along with her other conquests. As she flirts, twirling her long, flowing, blonde locks, as well as making doe eyes at Cato I can't help but gag. I disappear into the shadows, my raven hair and freckles not attracting any suitors, ever. Turning into the concrete high rise, I start to feel an indescribable feeling at the bottom of my stomach, but before I have a chance to figure out what it is, I arrive at my sanctuary. The knife throwing area of the center. When I arrive, everyone scatters to make way for me. My lips form a small grin, proud of what reputation I've managed to create here. I grab my favorite knives from the stand, and start throwing. I imagine the dummies are Maia, and I'm overjoyed because they hit the head dead center every time. I finish throwing to find everyone staring at me. I shrug it off as it is a daily occurrence, and I sprint off before my first class starts. Halfway through Panemenic History, the bell sounds so we can go home and prepare for the reaping. I try to find Cato, but unsuccessfully so I just start walking alone. I don't have many friends, but I usually think it's because everyone's afraid of me and I'm more independent anyways. As I tiptoe into the house, not wanting my mom to know I'm home, my pencil accidently falls, and I feel like slapping myself because next thing I know, "CLOVE, HONEY, COME HERE TO YOUR MOTHER!" I go find my mother in my room shrugging my shoulders because this is what I've been dreading. "Clove, darling, why are you so late?" she continues not even bothering to listen to my answer "we have to get you ready, you never know where they'll place the cameras this year!" she finishes in her shrill voice. No one talks like that in District 2, but my mom's had so many trips to the Capitol she started to talk like them. In one swift motion, my mother pushes me into our only shower (a gift from the President) and turns on all the possible button combinations. I start to get assaulted by water and soap from all angles and I hate every minute of it. My mother then fixes my hair with a barrette, and against all my protests she puts me into a fluffy maroon skirt and a ruffled shirt. I look at myself and the mirror and I'm astonished to not be repulsed by myself. I don't look half bad, but no one will look at me the way all the boys fawn over Maia, even Cato.


End file.
